


The art of losing

by notactuallyapanda



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I hate me too, i just went and did that, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 07:16:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notactuallyapanda/pseuds/notactuallyapanda
Summary: Peter Parker is no stranger to loss, but he's used to it. He's made peace with it, and it doesn't bother him anymore.





	The art of losing

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by 'One Art', a poem by Elizabeth Bishop.

_The art of losing isn’t hard to master;_

_so many things seem filled with the intent_

_to be lost that their loss is no disaster._

_Lose something every day. Accept the fluster_

_of lost door keys, the hour badly spent._

_The art of losing isn’t hard to master._

Peter Parker was no stranger to loss. He lost his parents, he lost his uncle, he lost several battles against some bad guys. He kept losing backpacks, and homework, his keys, once even his phone. And let’s not forget that one time when Peter lost his life. So yeah, Peter would say he was an expert at losing.

 

It used to eat at him (not that certain losses didn’t anymore) but he made peace with it. When he lost a backpack, he resignedly reached for the little stash of money he kept from every time Mr Stark told him to keep the change from their little trips to McDonalds, or the occasional coffee run he sent Peter on. When he lost his keys, well, he was Spiderman wasn’t he?

When he lost a battle against a bike thief or a mugger, the police was usually there to help him, because no one in Queens seemed to miss the red and blue superhero zooming past their windows, so Peter usually had a police car loosely following him. Not that he cared, he appreciated the backup.

 

Losing stuff got easy with time, and it didn’t really bother Peter anymore, as he would tell Ned when his friend expressed concern about the latest bruises on his face, as he wouldn’t dare tell MJ when he got a Decathlon question wrong, as he would tell Mister Stark when he raised a eyebrow upon seeing Peter with a different backpack for the third time that month.

 

Which is why it felt like a slap on the face when he was too late to stop a woman from being run over.

Peter approached the woman carefully, not thinking about how that hair, that dress, that bracelet was as familiar to him as the palms of his own hands.

The paramedics tried and failed to revive her; they looked at each other and said they lost her.

Peter couldn’t feel his legs, yet another loss that night, and he sank to his knees, extending a shaky hand towards the face rapidly losing colour.

 

He shot up, leaping backwards, putting as much distance as he could between him and that face, that face he had seen just two hours ago, the face that had smiled and said to be home by midnight, and that he was very much _larbed_.

 

With one last look at May’s now pale face, he webbed himself away.

 

_—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture_

_I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident_

_the art of losing’s not too hard to master_

_though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster._

**Author's Note:**

> This was not beta'd or proofread so it might very well be a mess. I'm sorry I did that.


End file.
